


Different

by Witete



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I wrote this for me but you can read it too, Just lots of fluff, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Pregnancy, basically said fuck canon and made my own universe, feat. spiderman and cap mericas super senses, feat. the cat my roomie and i fostered, just a single sentence that mentions rape but the character is nameless, rip the mcu but im different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20852222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witete/pseuds/Witete
Summary: The air was muddled, softer, warmer - pulling desperately, urging whoever would listen to find and protect.OR Peter comes to the compound and something is different.





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> my wip title for this fic was 'and she said fuck canon (nothing bad happened au)' and im RIGHT  
whatever the russos did? gone. nope. trashed. who are the russos? dont know. 
> 
> anyways enjoy

When Peter stepped into the Compound on a Friday afternoon in early April, he immediately could tell that something was off.

A feeling, something latched to his stomach, rode just beneath his sixth sense, not quite triggering a panic or a danger, but acted as an incessant notification that the air felt different.

Peter turned his head, watching nervously as Happy drove away, black exterior of the BMW glinting white stars in the glare of the sun. He watched him drive away, pulling into the underground garage without incidence. As the soft grumble of the car faded, Peter tuned into the sounds of the building: the natural creaking of the metallic supports, the loud whirr of the AC units on the other end of the compound, the soft buzzing of the light fixtures.

The trees rustled. Birds sang. The sky was clear. The stray tortoiseshell cat that Peter introduced to the Compound grounds a few weeks ago was sleeping under a nearby bench, her ears twitching and her breath whistling adorably as she dreamt. He could hear Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark talking inside, past the glass walls of the building. Calmly, he noted. Not fighting.

It was as peaceful as anything could get.

So why did he feel like the other shoe was about to drop?

Normally, Peter would dismiss it as anxiety, but his nervousness reservoir was stored securely in his chest. If an attack got bad enough, he may feel it boiling in his stomach, coiling his intestines like wire, but no such feelings were present. No clenched lungs, no rolling stomach, no pounding heart; just a feeling of anticipation right beneath his elevated senses.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Parker?”

Peter spooked slightly as the resident A.I. addressed him, the speaker above the door slightly staticky, and the camera whirring softly. Peter released a shaky breath and gave the camera what he hoped was a genuine smile. _This is Mr. Stark’s A.I., _Peter thought as his smile turned a little more strained. _If she can see through his bullshit, she can absolutely see through mine._

“Yeah, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Thanks. Can you open the door for me, please?”

“Absolutely,” she said gently. The door’s locks unlatched with a _clang _and Peter grabbed the handle, swinging it open. He paused. “Hey, Fri?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

“Does Mr. Stark know about Feyah?” he chanced a look at the long-haired beast beneath the bench, her tongue sticking halfway out of her mouth as she continued to sleep.

“Not to my knowledge, no. She is very good at avoiding him.”

“She’s _totally _on my side then,” Peter said. “If he asks, say it was Ms. Romanoff.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. released a small, mechanical sound, almost like a windchime in a barely-there breeze; a sound which Peter learned to recognize as laughter. “Gladly, Mr. Parker. Boss is in the common room upstairs with Captain Rogers. Mrs. Potts is on grounds as well.”

“Thank you, Fri.” With that, Peter stepped inside the building, the door swinging shut behind him, latching with another loud clunk. The moment he stepped inside, the “off” feeling intensified ever so slightly, poking a reminder into his belly. He sucked in a breath, exhaled slowly, and made his way upstairs, resolutely ignoring the growing ache in his torso, and the low hum in the back of his head.

  
He could hear Tony and Steve speaking in the room, their voices amiable for once. As he continued to listen, however, Peter could tell by the inflections of their words that there was an argument, just a different kind.

“Ask F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Mr. Stark’s voice was almost placating, which was jarring to begin with. Peter had had Tony speak to him in those tones before, following a breakdown or an attack, but he had never heard him use that tone on anyone else, let alone, Captain-fuckin’-America. “The only thing wrong is that it’s already so fucking hot outside. What happened to ‘April Showers’?”

“Tony,” Mr. Rogers insisted, and yeah, that wavering in the voice? – it was something Peter knew like the back of his hand. His skull thrummed.

“I – I’m not saying that anything is _wrong_, but something _is _different. If you’re planning something, please just tell me. I hate feeling – whatever this is,” Steve sighed.

Tony was silent for a moment, but he sighed as well after a few beats. “I don’t know what to tell you, Cap. You want some of my Xanax?”

“_Tony,_” Steve said again, tired.

“Sorry, genuine question.”

“Peter’s here,” Rogers deflected.

Caught up in the disbelief that he wasn’t the only one experiencing this weird turn of events, Peter completely forgot that Mr. Rogers’ senses were dialed up as well. He had just been caught eavesdropping.

“I thought I heard the front door,” Mr. Stark mused, clothes rustling as he moved towards the staircase. He poked his head around the wall, fixing a mellow gaze on the boy. “You snoopin’?”

“Mr. Rogers just _had _to ruin the fun,” Peter sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. He finished his climb up the stairs and gave his mentor a side hug in greeting.

Tony squeezed the boy’s shoulders once before releasing him, ease evident on his face. “Trust me, kid – I know.”

Mr. Rogers scoffed, standing up from where he had been sitting on one of the couches. “When did we decide today was ‘Haze Steve Day?’”

“Every day is ‘Haze Steve Day,’” Peter said, shaking Steve’s hand in greeting, making sure to squeeze extra hard, as per their game. Steve successfully held back a wince as he squeezed back with brutal force, causing Peter to half-laugh, half-cry out as his hand was locked in a vice. “I was totally kidding! You should never take me seriously.” Peter struggled to get out of the grip, though his smile shattered the illusion of true pain and panic. Steve’s own mouth curved into an expectant smile.

“Okay! Okay, uncle, jeez!” Peter said, jumping out of the Captain’s reach once his hand was released. The dull throb in his bones covered the _wrong _in his stomach. “Snap my hand next time, I dare you.”

Tony laughed, watching from the sidelines. “Watch out, kid; he’ll snap something else.”

“Bet,” Peter taunted, watching as Mr. Roger’s triumphant look turned into something a little more flummoxed. Peter giggled.

“You still hazing me?” Steve said with raised brows, words like a threat.

“Who said anything about hazing?” Peter frowned as innocently as he could.

Tony scoffed, and Steve huffed a breath, cracking a grin that ended the façade. He nodded his head towards Tony. “You spend way too much time with him.”

Tony smiled and shrugged. “Probably.” He then turned to Peter, the moment turning slightly more serious. “I have a few things that I have to get done really quick for S.I. before we go to the workshop. Well, before _I _go down – you can go whenever you want.”

Peter fixated him with a stare, crossing his arms and hoping he looked intimidating. Judging by Mr. Stark’s quirked lips and slight brow-raise, he wasn’t. Peter held his ground anyways.

“You aren’t going to stay away for hours on end, are you?”

“I couldn’t spend hours away from the shop even if I wanted to, kid,” Tony said, and that was promise enough. He knocked shoulders with Peter in a goodbye, but not before looking at the super soldier behind them. “Don’t kill him. He’s my only intern.”

“No promises,” Steve said, and he smiled again, though this time it was as fragile as glass. The moment Peter saw that, the feeling of unease came back full swing, making his heart skip a beat. Rogers’ eyes swung towards the boy, brows furrowing slightly before looking back at Tony and bidding him farewell for now.

Peter looked back to see Tony regard the pair for a few moments, calculations and concerns swimming in his gaze before nodding slowly at Steve and turning away, disappearing down the corridor towards his office.

“I thought it was just me,” Steve said after a few moments, causing Peter to glance back at the man who was wringing his hands in a nervous tic. “You feel it too?”

“The – the pull?” Peter asked, his voice smaller than he’d like it to be. “The back of my head itches.”

The sigh that Steve released could’ve easily been mistaken as relief, and Peter supposed it was, to an extent. Mr. Rogers nodded. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s not danger,” Peter insisted, mostly to himself more than anything.

“No,” Steve agreed. He searched Peter’s face for a moment before he turned to sit on the couch again, settling with a soft _oomph. _

Peter sat down beside him.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, though he already knew the answer.

Rogers frowned. “No. I mean, his heartbeat is always distracting and odd, but it’s not abnormal.”

Peter laughed nervously. “Well, it is, technically.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately so. I also think he took too much of his anti-anxiety medication. I could smell it on him.”

Peter frowned. He didn’t know what to say to that. However, he catalogued that information, just in case. “Okay,” he said.

Another moment passed. “The building?” Peter asked. “Have you been feeling it all day? Yesterday?”

Steve considered. “I don’t think it’s the building; Fri would’ve said something. I was fine yesterday. It was only this morning when I started feeling it. How soon did you start to feel it?”

“As soon as Happy dropped me off a few minutes ago.”

“Hm.”

“So, whatever it is…it’s here, and it just got here.”

Steve made a sound of agreement.

“It feels –“ Peter started, trying to come up with an explanation to whatever the pull was urging him to listen to. “ – it feels like I need to find whatever this thing is. Like it’s guiding me somewhere.”

“It’s not violent, though,” Mr. Rogers observed. “It’s almost like we need to find it, but not to hurt it?”

Peter was sure it wasn’t meant to come out as a question, but it was valid either way. “Maybe,” he said, though unsure.

“Is it the cat?”

Peter froze. “What cat?” he said, flatly.

Steve scoffed. “’What cat’ he says.”

  
“Totally Ms. Romanoff’s fault,” he said, nodding a few too many times.

“Sure.”

“Also _no_,” Peter drawled, regarding Steve with a incredulous look. “She is perfect, and I would die for her.”

“I was bullshitting you, by the way. I know it’s not the cat,” Steve smiled, and, though devious, it was tinged with tendrils of anxiety.

Peter gaped in faux awe. “Captain America lying _and _cursing in one go? Obscene.”

“A disappointment to this country, I’m _sure_,” Steve said, sarcasm dripping off his tongue like water.

Peter’s laugh was knocked out of his lungs as a gasp when the pull twisted in his gut, and the tingling in his head sharpened ever so slightly. His sinuses all of a sudden felt full.

He whirled his gaze to Steve who also seemed to be taken out by the pull; though he tried to school his wired expression, the worried look in his eyes was evident.

Then, they heard arguing.

“Tony, I _told _you that this was important for the company.” It was Mrs. Potts’ voice, her sharp undertones accentuated with the clack of her heels. “The absolute _last _thing I needed was you telling him where to shove it.”

“C’mon, Pep,” Tony almost whined. “He was being a total jackass to you the other day. What more can you expect from a guy who looks like Chris Christie?”

“As true as that may be, we need the merger.”

“No,” Tony said, dragging out the word as they emerged into the kitchen. The pull elevated again. “_They _need the merger; I’m not going to let that sexist dickwad go through with it if he’s just going to be an asshole about it.”

Pepper moved into the kitchen towards the barstools, sitting down and setting a handful of binders on the countertop. Her clothing was crisp and pressed, her dark slacks without a wrinkle and her grey blouse without stain. Despite her stern look, her eyes betrayed an absolute look of fondness towards her husband, her mouth barely containing a smile.

Peter practically vibrated in his seat, the pull finally manifesting into something similar to the anxiety in his chest, clenching his heart in a sudden desire to _protect _and _defend. _He looked fervently around the room, desperately searching for the monster to defend against, but no ugly popped their head out. Absolutely nothing changed. Not only was Peter antsy and anxious now, but he finally found the source of it, which only elevated his confusion. Steve’s lost and concerned gaze told the same story.

Mrs. Potts.

Peter looked over towards her again, searching her frame for anything different or anything odd. It was definitely her, but there was nothing _wrong. _Her heartbeat was normal. Her breathing was slightly elevated, but that was only because she was yelling some sense into her husband.

Peter tried to sniff, almost cringing at the absurdity of it, but his nose was almost wholly congested with a smell he had only noticed a handful of times before. Once when he was out on patrol when he saved a woman from getting stabbed in the abdomen for the paper in her wallet. She had touched her stomach gently, thanking him profusely. Another time with one of May’s work friends who was going on maternity leave, a mix of hormones and the sound of a tiny heartbeat surrounding her swollen abdomen. Another woman threatening suicide to herself and, subsequently, the fetus she had with someone who had his way with her – the night he walked her to a Planned Parenthood. The smell had been cloying.

The realization hit him like a train.

He stood up on his feet so fast that he startled Mrs. Potts out of her argument, and she faced him, a hand pressed over her heart. “Goodness, Peter. Save those for Tony, would you?”

Tony’s jaw snapped shut mid-sentence, his petulant frown humorous if it weren’t for the earth-shattering realization Peter just had.

“Mrs. Potts are you pregnant?!”

The blunt question was met with shocked silence.

Pepper blinked, chancing a glance over at Tony who was also looking fairly taken aback. Pepper schooled her expression into something gentle, but with an edge, like she was unsure, as she looked back at Peter.

“No, kid, I don’t think so.” She looked at Tony again. He shifted his weight to one foot, but otherwise didn’t move. He slid his gaze over to the boy, brow furrowed ever so slightly. Peter could sense his anxiety spike, though his face didn’t betray the change.

“Peter,” Steve’s voice said from the couch. When the boy looked at the soldier, he saw the same realization in his blue eyes. “It’s gone – the feeling.”

Peter took a moment. Mr. Rogers was right. That daunting, foreboding pull and the harsh tinge in his head had quieted, leaving him alone with a slight tingle in his chest cavity and the scent of progesterone in his nose. He sniffed reflexively, both weirded out and amazed at the realization. There was a feeling, though, deep in his core that still screamed _defend_, but he avoided that feeling like the plague.

“Uh, I guess congratulations are in order?” Steve said, clearly wrought with discomfort.

Peter turned back to Tony when he giggled, though his entire body was rigid as a board, the lines of his face cut so harshly that the nervous tic was unmistakable. “Fucking _what?_”

The impulsive part of Peter’s brain laughed as well, saying _fucking what? I think you mean fucking _who. Peter dismissed the thought and chewed on his lip instead, looking down and suddenly feeling very exposed and embarrassed.

“Tony,” Pepper reprimanded again. It sounded like she wanted to say something else, but she couldn’t quite formulate the words.

Then passed the most awkward five seconds of silence in Peter’s entire life.

Pepper didn’t move for a few long moments, but when she did, it was with a resigned sigh. She stood up, brushed off her flawless slacks and turned to Tony. His eyes watched her as she went to stand next to him.

“Before you say anything,” Tony said, keeping his eyes stubbornly on her face. “Let’s go somewhere where certain enhanced people can’t hear us.”

Peter took a step back towards the couch, regretful. He shouldn’t have said anything.

Pepper considered her husband only for a moment before turning to the pair by the couch, giving them a trained smile, maybe the same one that she had given the guy at that merger deal. “We’ll be right back.” With that, she turned and walked back towards the hallway she came from, Tony trailing behind her with a poise of defensive confidence. They both disappeared around the corner.

Peter moaned, putting his face in his hands, shame boiling in his stomach where the pull had previously resided. “I feel like an asshole.”

“Well,” Mr. Rogers said with an upbeat of optimism that almost made Peter feel worse. “I don’t think you’re wrong, so…”

“It shouldn’t have mattered; that’s their business, not mine – or yours.”

“It’s not your fault, kid,” Steve said gently. “So it goes when you’re more in-tune with the world around you.”

There was another beat before Mr. Rogers spoke again, this time with a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Well, at least the feeling’s gone.”

“Thank god,” Peter said dryly.

Steve sighed, but didn’t say anything more, letting Peter stew in his regret.

It was about twenty minutes later when someone emerged from the hallway, her now bare feet padding against the floor, her nice clothing replaced with cloth shorts and a tank top. Peter, who was sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the couch, didn’t look at her. She stopped about a foot away from him, and crouched, forearms draped across her knees.

“How did you know?” her voice was quiet and kind.

Peter swallowed and looked up at her, trying to meet her eyes, but not quite being able to. He looked at her knees and shrugged. “I could sense it,” he offered lamely.

“Peter,” she said, laying one of her hands on his forearm. He hated how much it made him feel better. “Tony and I aren’t mad at you. You just startled us.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he repeated miserably. He also hated that her close proximity made his anxiety soothe. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been able to do that before, but this time it was less about him and more about her. He felt like screaming.

“I’m glad you did – the sooner these things, the better,” Pepper said. “So, _thank you_, Peter, for saying something.”

Peter shrugged, offering her a small, still somewhat deprecating smile.

Pepper offered him a smile in return, a real, genuine one, and when Peter searched her eyes for insincerity, he found none. The shame on his shoulders got a little bit lighter.

She then shifted her attention to Steve, who was still sitting on the couch, observing with an air of intensity. “You knew too?”

“I had a hunch,” he said. “Like Peter said, something was different, but we couldn’t quite get a grasp on it.”

Pepper nodded. “Tony said you were anxious earlier. Is that what that was?”

Steve nodded.

Peter looked at Pepper again. “Where is Mr. Stark?”

Mrs. Potts rolled her eyes, and an amused smirk settled on her face. “Freaking out in the bathroom.”

Pepper must’ve noticed Peter’s expression slip into something more concerned because she was quick to placate. “He’s just giddy. Nothing dangerous – “ The understood “yet” hung in the air.

“We’ll be there when it inevitably does,” Pepper reassured, the use of the “we” making Peter’s heart feeling lighter than it had been since the afternoon began.

“So –“ Mr. Rogers ventured. “Are, um – they here to, y’know stay? Is this what you and Tony…want?”

Pepper’s gaze got impossibly softer. “My husband is very bad at dropping hints. We both agreed, though, to just let it happen. I think he just remembered that that was something that _could_ happen.”

She paused to laugh. “You know how he is.”

“Are you talking about me? I hear you talking about me.”

Peter peered around where Pepper was crouched in front of him to see Tony walk into the room. His face was carefully constructed to hide any nervous or giddy fissures; the only thing that gave it away was a minute smile on his face, and the jitter of his hand as he ran it through his hair. After the fingers moved through his nonexistent tangles, he used his index to point at Peter. “Why do you feel the need to scare or embarrass the hell out of me on a _daily _basis?”

“Natural talent?” Peter offered, finally allowing himself to smile.

Tony ignored him to turn to Steve, though Peter could see his answering grin. “’Anxiety’ my ass. You’ve been alive for how long and you couldn’t identify what you were feeling?”

Steve spluttered. “It’s not like I’ve been well-invested in the life of a pregnant woman before.”

“Don’t say that – makes me think I’m sharing.”

Pepper smacked Tony’s calf with an open palm, and Steve groaned unintelligibly before putting his head in a hand. “I didn’t know that the feeling was an inborn need to ‘protect’ is what I mean,” he amended, though haltingly. His ears were flushed.

Tony laughed, his face cracking to reveal the gentle and excited feelings underneath. “I was kidding, Cap. I get it. The method is unexpected, but the feeling I get.”

The warm glance he sent towards Peter was as well unexpected, but the warmth that surged through him made him smile again.

“I do need to find something to mock about you two though, as a thank you for outing me,” Tony sniffed. Pepper poised her hand to smack him again or put her head in it, but instead she used it to seat herself fully on the floor, her exasperated yet amused expression facing away from her husband. She looked at Peter and rolled her eyes playfully, and he controlled his snicker.

“Outing _you_?” Peter said, looking at Tony with a challenging gaze intended to stir up the waters.

Tony immediately caught on and tilted his head warningly towards the boy. “Don’t make me say it. I’m not gonna say it.”

“You should because I’m confused and have no idea what you are talking about,” Peter said, tone flatter than the entire state of Iowa.

“Sucks to be you, I guess,” Tony said with a nonchalant shrug.

“Any names yet?” Mr. Rogers piped up, eager to smooth the storm that Peter had conjured.

Tony’s brows rose to his hairline. “I just found out about half an hour ago that my wife was pregnant and you’re asking me if I have names already?”

Steve just looked at him.

It wasn’t often that Tony lost a contest like this, but the excitement of fatherhood had better ideas in his mind, Peter supposed. It wasn’t five seconds until Tony huffed, and looked down at his feet. Pepper smiled knowingly at him when he didn’t respond. She turned back to Steve. “He said it came to him in a dream.”

“Okay, that’s one of the things we_ don’t _say,” Tony groused, and Peter was astounded to see faint pink dusting on his mentor’s cheeks.

“Why it was my uncle’s name on his mind, I will never know,” Pepper said, and she placed a consoling hand on the top of his shoe.

“Morgan,” Mr. Stark provided after a beat.

It seemed putting a name to the residual feelings of protectiveness made the feeling less ambiguous and a lot more tangible. Peter swallowed at the swell of emotions collecting in his throat and he looked at Pepper’s stomach, even though he knew that he wouldn’t see anything. “Morgan,” Peter repeated, quietly, reverently.

“It’s a wonderful name,” Steve said, smiling at Tony warmly.

Tony nodded, glancing up and returning the soft look. He took a step closer to Pepper, pressing his outer thigh against her shoulders and head. She leaned back against him, uttering an almost inaudible breath of contentment.

“Little Morgan Stark,” Peter said. He paused, taking a dramatic breath through his nose, humming in mock concentration. He nodded slowly and screwed his mouth in thought. “I’m thinking girl.”

Tony waved his hands in the air in front of him. “Spare us for at least the rest of the week, kid,” he laughed. “I don’t even know if you’re kidding or not.”

Peter laughed. “I am, I am!”

Nine months later, Tony almost wrung Peter by his neck, cursing him through the tears of happiness and wonderment. “You said you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” Peter insisted as Tony enveloped him in a hug, the ‘big brother’ shirt scrunched between their bodies. And it was true – Peter hadn’t known for sure. But it wouldn’t be the first time he was surprised by the gifts the universe decided to give.

And Morgan Stark was probably one of the best ones.

**Author's Note:**

> probably one of the weirder fics ive written but this idea has been on my mind for MONTHS and i couldnt fucking let it go so there


End file.
